Ye Old Maple Desk ~ Tree Spirit

Just before my 65th birthday in early February, my dream desk presented itself on Craig's List. It's a solid maple Ethan Allen roll-top in perfect condition and just my size.  We didn't hesitate to make the purchase, and it was a pleasure to deal with a fine gentleman in Lynden --- a retired professor who still had too much office furniture. Getting the desk in place took a lot of muscle and teamwork, and we were grateful at the moment a neighbor-angel appeared to help my husband actually heft the thing into the house.

I sit here a lot now, on what feels like solid, rooted wood, enjoying the convenience of everything at hand. From my chair I can enjoy the picturesque Grove Street neighborhood by glancing through the front door, and to my right a large window frames Connecticut Street. It's mostly the trees and skies I notice, of course; my visual editor deletes the hanging wires, recycle bins, and crackedy street pavement. It's a delightful place to sit. I look forward to the inspiration of summer breezes when I can leave the door open, just a few months in the future.

The organizer in me took over for the first week, but it wasn't long before things were generally set up.  The left side of the desk is my administrivia corner, with incoming and outgoing mail, little stacks of bills and do-do lists. Those left-minded drawers contain the business end of my life, including files, office supplies and a calculator. 

The right-brain desk receives my creative energy, including the supplies for hand-written letters, an old-timey personal address book, and a variety of sizes of memo books intended to be in my pockets, to catch my bright ideas when I'm walking about in the world.  Actually the drawers and cubbies on the right side are quite empty, which I think is perfect; that area becomes a vessel for receiving whatever I create.  

In the center backdrop I've mounted a favorite mission statement, along with some miniature matted paintings given to me by a friend about 20 years ago. These little works were always posted near my desk at WWU in the four different offices I occupied before retiring. In that left-brained world they were my constant reminder not only of my friend, but also the softer air and light of San Juan Island.

From behind me during this chilly month, the gas fireplace whispers warmth under my chair. A large bookshelf holds more and more of my library, the one that pertains to literature I love, along with a special shelf for my own writings.  I succeeded in moving the smaller desk over to the back corner of the room, where it now serves as the technical station: a wireless printer, the network components tucked into a bottom drawer, and a place to charge my laptop, iPhone, landline and cordless drill.

Since today is Wednesday, I started with a hand-written letter. These heart-centered notes have continued to provide warm connections with family and friends. I've received a few return letters, especially from folks who never did much email anyway, and who've always preferred the hand-helds. Also, a cousin called out of the blue one evening for a long visit, a call he may not have made, except that my letter would have been sitting around reminding him that I care.

Last week, from my new perch, I honed and submitted a few poems to different publications. I also received my first rejection, which was curiously celebrated with my husband, who is the president of my fan club.  

Sitting at my desk brings back memories of the huge big-leaf maple tree in the forest uphill from our beach cabin, where I sometimes climbed when I wanted to be alone as a teenager. (O! I hope it's not that tree!) I would lean against the mossy trunk and become part of the simplicity of the salt air and the call of the gulls, a creature of that forest, taking in the vista of trees and skies, just as I do today.  Like my old maple tree, my desk holds a quiet mystery and serenity for me because it's a place where I can just be. The family leaves me pretty much alone when I sit here, as my original family did when I chose to saunter off to my big tree in adolescent reverie.  This kind of time and place renews my spirit and allows the kind of emptying I need in order to invite fulfillment.